


Recessional

by HanaSheralHaminail



Series: Stories of Women who love Women [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, Big Gay Love Story, F/F, Fantasy, Love Story, Original work - Freeform, Romance, all characters belong to me, also, and the setting, disaster lesbian meets absolute mess of bisexual, i promise this is very good, moon doesn't know she's moon, okay more than a touch, so does the story, sun and moon are in love and you can't tell me otherwise, sweet with a touch of angst, the gift of ashes, this is a short story about a novel I'm writing, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 02:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15921214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanaSheralHaminail/pseuds/HanaSheralHaminail
Summary: It is said Sun and Moon have loved each other since the beginning of time - only their duty to the world they protect has kept them apart. But when Moon is betrayed by her people, everything changes... This is the story of what befalls them after they become mortals.Sunon is haunted by the memories of Sun and worshiped by all as Her Prophet. Scio remembers nothing of her past as Moon, and has sworn to protect the Prophet with her life. Chance has brought them back together, but their world is falling apart under the weight of its own evils, and even the Deities are powerless to heal it.Scio and Sunon will once again be faced with a choice - how much are they willing to sacrifice for the people they serve?





	Recessional

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThereBeWhalesHere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereBeWhalesHere/gifts).



> I feel like this needs a little setting; I am writing a novel called 'The Gift of Ashes', in which Sunon and Scio are the protagonists, and their love story is one of the main themes of the plot. This short story follows that and that alone: it's a collection of scenes depicting the progression of Sunon and Scio’s relationship and forbidden love.
> 
> With a happy ending because I can't deal with angst otherwise.
> 
> Anyhow! I hope you enjoy my story! 
> 
> \- Ri'sal: the Prophet (aka Sunon, or Sun)  
> \- Shorin: the Prophet's personal guard (aka Scio, or Moon)

**_Recessional_ **

 

 

_“It’s so beautiful here,” she says,_

_“This moment now and this moment, now.”_

* * *

The waves rolled quietly on the shore, soft and gentle as they stretched over smooth pebbles, cradling them like a caring mother would. High in the sky, the sun spilled the yellow rays of spring, sending them to melt into an ocean that greedily swallowed them – bright, evanescent reflexes all that remained of their glory.

It was, truly, a spectacle. The dance of blue and turquoise on the horizon, the seagulls drawing shapes into the void, the cheerful clicking of lilac rocks, the triumph of winds and perfumes chasing each other in the clear air: no work of art could have ever compared to such magnificence.

And yet, Scio had eyes only for her Prophet.

There was wonder on her face as she looked around, light on her feet, arms spread wide open in a flurry of fiery robes and graceful movements, hair blown to frame her body like a golden halo. “I never thought water could be so… beautiful,” she said, tentative in a language that was not her own.

Scio held her gaze unflinchingly, but it was a near thing – something stirred within her as she lost herself in the unbridled happiness that burst from those cerulean eyes.

“It’s the ocean,” the _Shorin_ answered, following the flight of the small braid they had woven int the wheat-like hair mere hours before. It curled and uncurled around Sunon’s left shoulder. Scio found herself restraining the urge to reach out and brush it behind her pointed ear. “Nothing’s more beautiful, or more dangerous.”

The Prophet turned back to the water, slipped off her shoes, and stood at the very edge of the shore, watching the waves lap the pebbles before her.

“Are you afraid?” Scio asked quietly a few moments later. Slowly, she went to stand but a step behind her; breathing the sweet scent of chamomile with which her charge washed her hair, she let her hand hover mere inches from the other’s. She could feel the warmth pouring off her skin, and wondered why so natural a gesture – an offer of help and support, necessary between them and so many times repeated – had suddenly become so hard to perform.

She had never wished to attach a deeper meaning to it.

“I am fire,” Sunon murmured, glancing at her from above her shoulder. “This is as foreign to me as water in the desert.”

Unknowingly, Scio smiled a little. Her lips curved up as if in instinctual response to the Prophet’s fear, to quell it with that tender expression she so rarely showed. “I won’t let you come to harm, my _Ri’sal_ ,” she very seriously said, and it was a vow, as always it was a vow, because she had sworn her life to this prodigious being from the moment she’d laid eyes on her and they were only children thrown about into a world they did not understand.

“As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe.”

Sunon let out a chiming laugh at that, and though Scio did not quite understand the reason for such abrupt mirth, she enjoyed the rich, familiar sound nonetheless. If Sun had a voice, it would be hers.

“Yes, I know that,” the Prophet told her merrily. She dropped her shoes carelessly on the ground and took hold of her _Shorin_ ’s hand. “I trust you.”

Scio contemplated their twined fingers for a second. There was no hesitation in _Ri’sal_ ’s grip: as with everything she did, she gave her all and demanded nothing in return. Privately, the warrior thought neither she nor the rest of the world would ever truly deserve such care.

But Sunon had entrusted her with her life, and so Scio led her gently into the waters and welcomed her in the depths of her realms.

* * *

_And I never thought I would find her here:_

_Flannel and satin, my four walls transformed._

* * *

 

Inside the Temple, everything was golden and ivory and marble. The effigies of a time when Sun was a Mother and a Saviour were barely visible in the gentle smiles her statues bore, in the ancient writings that littered the walls – words of joy and affection, warnings to care for and be helpful to one another.

Sunon walked across the nave and wondered where it had all gone so terribly wrong. The leather soles of her thin boots made no sound against the mosaic covering the floor, and she silently advanced towards the altar.

She remembered priests used to stand on top of it, reaching their arms to the sky to declare themselves devoted to it. She threw her head back and all she saw was the frescoed ceiling, images of war. Spiders laced ethereal webs from corner to corner, and theirs was the only sliver of life in that soulless place.

Lost in her thoughts, she perched upon the flat surface, tracing the shape of the black sun embedded in it, and let her legs dangle a little. She closed her eyes.

“ _O Sun, it is in us to err, in us to fall. Forgive the weakness we show, and let us partake in your sacred Light._ ”

Sunon’s eyes flew open, fire flashing in them as she recognised the ancient prayer. And it was Scio, kneeling before her, her back to the largest statue of Victorious Sun and her face upturned, long lashes casting dark shadows on her freckled cheeks.

The Prophet had never seen such placid warmth on her face. She studied the beloved features and listened to that half-chant the _Shorin_ was intoning for her and for her only – and it was heart-breaking, that she had no idea she was older than the song itself, no idea they had witnessed its birth and rejoiced in the first time that it had been spoken as a bridge towards the Deities.

But Sunon could not tell her, would never tell her, because if she did their dream of mortality would end, if she did Moon would break, if she did they would be torn apart…

And though they were little more than strangers – friends, companions, partners in crime, but strangers at heart because Sun knew and she did _not_ – the Prophet would never relinquish this tentative relationship they shared.

“ _It is to you that I pledge my soul, O Sun that conquers our shadows of doubt_.”

The glass window behind them painted strange shapes over Scio’s flannel shirt, bathing her in a rainbow of nightly colours – as it should. Her hands were joined in her lap, knees pressed together under the silvery veil wrapped around her strong shoulders. The slow breaths she took were all Sunon could hear.

“ _Let me be safe in this journey of life, guide my steps out of the darkness and into your dawn_.”

Sighing softly, the Prophet raised her hand as if to bless her; she held it there, in mid-air, hovering into nothing, watching the light cross the spaces between her fingers. She ached for closeness but she would never dare ask for it.

Scio had sworn to obey her every order, and Sunon could not force her, she could only wish and wait and wonder what could have been – what could be. The fragile, fleeting beauty of Moon had morphed into a dangerous kind of stillness: the charged immobility of a predator before it pounced, the roar of the ocean during a storm.

And that lethal force Scio had placed within her hands without question.

“ _Rescue me, O Sun that Shines above. I am the lowest of your servants_.”

Sunon swallowed hard at those words and looked away.

* * *

_But she’s looking at me, straight to center,_

_No room at all for any other thought._

* * *

Scio sat cross-legged over the bed she shared with her Prophet. Their rented room was small and dark, the only window almost completely hidden behind a moth-ridden wardrobe, but at least it was clean. A vaguely unpleasant smell of smoke stubbornly clung to the walls, even though the keeper had sprayed a generous dose of perfume around to hide it.

When she leaned forward, the scent of ruined paper filled her nostrils, and the warrior inhaled deeply of it, looking down at the words drawn in black ink over the mottled pages. Sunon held the book in both hands, body stretched luxuriously across the bed, knees bent and legs kicking slowly in the air.

Resolutely, Scio kept her gaze fixed on the beautifully illuminated paper.

A soft smirk graced the Prophet’s face, as if she’d guessed at the reasons behind her _Shorin_ ’s distraction, and she kept reading aloud in her level, well-cadenced tone, recounting the tales of glorious Sun who had fallen for sweet Moon of the night.

Images and voices danced confusedly in Scio’s mind as she tried to imagine what the Deities would look like, fire entwined with silver, meeting on the threshold between light and darkness, united but only in thought, never touching, sharing the same spaces but never at the same time.

Scio’s eyes flicked upwards, following the gentle curve of Sunon’s jaw to where it met her neck, then down to the dip of her clavicles, the soft shape of her breasts…

Blinking against the sudden heat rising to her cheeks, the _Shorin_ jumped back, burying her face in the covers in shame. Again, the Prophet merely chuckled. Flustered, Scio cleared her throat, threw both arms up and crossed them to cover her face.

This raw attraction she felt for her charge was different from any other she’d ever experienced – and she’d had many women and even men, for _Shorina_ were encouraged to bond in such a way, and it had never meant much because it was duty, it was good because there were no strings attached, it was easy because there were no words to be shared, nothing but a fleeting intimacy that would be easily forgotten.

But _this_.

There was more to it than mere desire. If it had been only a thing of the body she would have dismissed it as she did hunger and thirst and fatigue. If it had been only a thing of the body she wouldn’t have worried about it – spent days and nights wondering at the reasons behind it.

It was frightening because it was new, all-encompassing, a constant thought, almost a need for closeness, something she could not fully control. And she found herself seeking Sunon’s approval in ways that were not entirely proper for a _Shorin_ and her _Ri’sal_ , devising intricate plans to make her laugh or at the very least smile.

It was so terribly inappropriate and foolish and _it made no sense_.

The Prophet’s voice cut through her musing. “Why don’t you read, Scio? For practice?”

Unable to deny her nothing, Scio took hold of the book, slipped it onto her lap with a care best reserved to a living creature, slid a hand over the page. Slowly, cautiously, she began to read, doing her best not make mistakes as she tried to connect unfamiliar symbols to too-familiar sounds.

And so, deep into the night, she spoke of Sun and Moon and the love that destroyed them.

 

_And I know I don’t want this, oh I swear I don’t want this._

_There’s a reason I don’t want this but I forgot._

“Do you know how to dance?” Scio asked her one night, as they sat in quiet contemplation of the forest and its colours that melted at dusk.

From her perch upon a fallen trunk, Sunon looked up at her guide and protector and met her curious gaze. Her eyes lingered fleetingly on the light smirk she was shown – soft pink lips curved upwards teasingly – before the Prophet collected the frayed ends of her controls and turned back to the nearby stream.

Under the moonless sky, the waters shone faintly from what was left of the merpeople’s natural light.

“Dance?” Sunon repeated, hoping she had misunderstood the _Shorin_ ’s intent and yet feeling a surge of anticipation bite at her stomach from the very thought of ever being so close.

“Yes, dance. For fun.” Arching her left eyebrow, Scio rose gracefully, bent one arm behind her back and extended the other forward, palm up. “Would you do me the honour, my _Ri’sal_?”

Wrapped up in her dark suit, with long sleeves barely brushing her fingers, black eyes sparkling playfully, skin glowing richly from the soul it encased, the warrior had never looked as beautiful, or as Godly. And yet, everything in her spoke of life and mortality and tangible things, and the hand she offered was real, solid.

Sunon knew not how to refuse.

When their fingers locked together, she found herself being easily lifted and spun around to press against Scio’s side. The scent of her clothes enveloped her, sending her heart into a reckless run.

Out of instinct and the ancient wishes that had plagued her for millennia, Sun reincarnate grasped her companion’s shoulder tightly, so tightly she wondered if it hurt, and when the _Shorin_ ’s strong, firm hand docked at her waist she felt her knees go weak. Impossible, that she was to be granted her desire like that – a dance that was no more meaningful than a capricious game…

“Let us dance, then.”

Maybe Scio was trying to entertain her, distract her from what they were due to do in just a few days. Killing had never been an easy feat for one who was meant to cherish and protect life, and it was taking a toll on her, even though it had been her idea, even though she still believed it was the right thing to do…

Killing the Knights to prevent them from further plunging society in a pit of murder and terror. A simple thought – reasonable, even.

A part of her, no matter how tiny, shrank away from the knowledge that she was becoming as the mortals drew her – Vindictive Sun, Sun Victorious, the Goddess who struck her enemies from above and never turned to look back at the chaos she’d wrought.

Perhaps change was inevitable. What if there was no way to escape the will of the world?

No way in which she and Moon could be together?

Scio’s eyes upon her made her want to hide from their piercing focus, from the illusion that nothing was different between them, that all the memories they’d shared were still there, hanging from the little points of contact between their skins, fire melting over water…

She should have refused to dance.

Sunon was dizzy. It was increasingly difficult to remember why they were not supposed to hold each other like this, why she shouldn’t bring her arms up to encircle her _Shorin_ ’s neck, why she shouldn’t trail her fingers upwards into her velvety hair.

They were so close, bodies pressed together, Scio’s nose brushing the top of the Prophet’s head, her cool breath tickling her left ear as they swayed slowly, with no clear direction or rhythm.

Moon used to sing, before.

Softly, as if she had somehow picked up on Sunon’s wistful thoughts, Scio began to hum under her breath, sending chills to run down her spine. The lullaby that wove its tunes around the crickets’ chirping was as old as civilisation, the parting lament of a forest nymph who had loved a mortal and given her life to save her beloved’s.

_Who taught you this?_

The question barely reached the Prophet’s parted lips before she let it die. She did not wish to know, did not wish to break the quiet around them and shatter the beautiful mirror in which they seemed to have fallen.

Deep into the forest, hidden by a curtain of trees, with an empty sky to pass judgement on her weakness, Sunon surrendered. She let herself be led around in that dangerous dance and followed the steps her dearest traced. As long as it was Scio who showed the way – as long as it was Scio who wanted them closer.

What could it hurt?

She sunk her forehead against the _Shorin_ ’s shoulder.

Why should she resist her?

She searched for the other’s fingers, tracing a pattern down her dark sleeves.

What was even the point in turning away?

They gripped each other hard, as if both afraid to relinquish the flimsy claim they had on one another, then, hesitating just a little, they embraced.

Scio held her late into the night, and the Prophet counted her breaths, matching them to her own heartbeats. This warmth, the heady tangle of feelings and sensation, must have been what Moon had hoped to gain when She turned mortal – the one gift She had asked Sun to grant her, the one gift She had been refused.

How could she refuse her again?

Sunon closed her eyes. Scio pressed a butterfly’s kiss against her temple. The touch lingered, precious and fragile and new – its gentleness pouring into _Ri’sal_ ’s heart, melting the edges of the fear that plagued it. It was almost casual in the way it was bestowed, without the barest hint of embarrassment, as it was the hundredth and not the first they shared.

But when the _Shorin_ let her go, the Prophet stood still, and her hands dropped empty into her lap.

She was cold.

* * *

_In the terminal she sleeps on my shoulder,_

_Hair falling forward, mouth all askew_.

_Fluorescent announcements beat their wings overhead:_

_“Passengers missing, we’re looking for you.”_

_And she dreams though the noise, her weight against me,_

_Face pressed into the corduroy grooves._

* * *

The station was crowded, noisy, awash with a strangely white light that made everything seem softer somehow, subdued. Scio watched the birds fly above the transparent dome that powered the entire building and kept her silence. It was a matter of life and death that they stayed inconspicuous, after all.

A strange warmth descended upon her as she studied the figures drawn into the colourful glass, and she blinked to chase the drowsiness away. It would not do to fall asleep right then – and no matter that they had walked throughout the night and most of the previous day. No matter that Sunon was curled up like a living blanket around her, forehead pressed into the crook of her neck, soft breathing all she could hear amidst the noise.

Her Prophet looked so peaceful.

Absent-mindedly, she dipped her left hand into that river of flowing golden hair, letting her fingers catch around the knots and curls and pull at them gently. It was a soothing motion, not to mention instinctual. _Ri’sal_ ’s weight against her – the knowledge, the feeling that she was there, so close, so endlessly trusting – but humbled and excited her, and her wrists trembled, her heart stuttered.

It had not been like this, before, when they’d just met. Then, Scio had worshiped her, worshiped the woman to whom she had devoted her life; now that Sunon was a Goddess in her eyes, now that she had uncovered the truth of her fire, now that she knew her as Sun walking the earth… Now she was awed and frightened and so stupidly in love.

She let her gaze drop to the Prophet’s relaxed face. Blond lashes cast long shadows upon her cheekbones, and the blue paint with which she had adorned her lips and nose contrasted beautifully against the dark hue of her skin.

Unable to resist, Scio pressed a light kiss to her temple, gathered her tighter to her chest. A soft murmur fell from _Ri’sal_ ’s mouth, and the _Shorin_ bent her head downwards, trying to catch her words, words whispered in an ancient language that somehow she understood…

Sunon had said Deities could share thoughts from time to time. But to glimpse into her mind… Scio had not expected that.

Unwanted memories flooded her, dragging her down into a dream-like haze – fuzzy images and distant sounds, jumbled scenes thrown together with no apparent criterium, like evanescent pearls on a string of nostalgia.

_A crimson sky, a bleeding heart. Moon cried and raged and trembled, the blurred lines of her silver face quaking with the emotion that broke Sun who watched. The nightly Goddess fell, and a fiery hand was extended in support. But they couldn’t touch…_

_The hint of a playful smile warmed fathomless eyes as a rose the colour of the universe was extended in greeting – a gift that was to be treasured like all the others, planted in the curious garden of red and yellow, blue and violet, that they had hidden in the heart of the Shrine. Flowers that would never grow, never change, never die…_

_Aching loneliness, an empty Temple, weeping Sun and a barren sky as black as ink. It stretched and stretched and stretched, looming over the mortal world as if ready to drop down on it, crush it with its sorrow. Blindingly white words were etched on the marble floor; Sun traced their shape as if unable to understand their terrible, terrible meaning._

_“Goodbye. Perhaps I’ll see you, in another life.”_

Scio gasped. She looked around herself in confusion, trying to reconcile the bright lights of the station, its noise and the restless flow of the crowd, with the mourning, heart-breaking quiet of the Shrine, of Sun and Moon’s love. Sunon was still fast asleep, head burrowed in the crook of the _Shorin_ ’s head, soft and tender and completely unaware of how her breath was coming short and fear had gripped her chest.

The warrior’s fingers had closed around golden strands of wavy hair and were holding on tightly, tight enough her knuckles had turned white, tight enough it hurt. But it grounded her, and she needed it.

Careful now not to touch skin, she leaned forward and kissed her again, lightly, fleetingly. In the distance, people called for their relatives and friends, for passengers who were supposed to return but never made it to the station, for strangers who might answer their frantic questions. Scio sat still, waited for the train to arrive, and sighed.

She loved Sunon. Would have gladly given her life to save her if there came a need.

She loved everything about her: her strength, her courage, that stupid way she had of being righteous about everything she did, her frightening sense of duty, her disarming kindness. The colourful clothes she wore and the sugar-filled coffees she drank, the swaying motion of her hips when she walked and the dip of smooth skin where her clavicles met her sternum. The chanting quality of her voice and the yellow hue that sometimes bled into her eyes, the fire that burned raw in her heart and how she so carefully kept it in check, the passion she had for ancient legends and books and the excitement that lit up her face if she was asked to talk about them…

She’d loved the _idea_ of her for so long it was unsettling now to be this taken by the _person_ too.

A small smile curved her lips at the thought. She had been foolish enough to believe that she could be so close to such an exceptional being and stay unaffected… Impossible. She should have known. It was really quite predictable.

Gently, she shook Sunon by the shoulder. “ _Ri’sal_?” she whispered in her ear, trying to wake her. When the Sun woman’s only response was to curl up further in her embrace, Scio decided to let her be, and picked her up slowly, cradling her to her chest as she made her way across the busy station, into that ever-changing sea of faces and smells and voices.

Somehow, they were muted.

Unbeknownst to her, Sunon’s eyes fluttered open; she wrapped her arms more securely around her shoulders and let herself be carried, because it was nice sometimes to relinquish control, to accept support and help and the easy companionship she was offered.

In her mind, the sound of her title rang cruelly – _Ri’sal_ , the slave, _Ri’sal_ , she who dwelled in the Temple, _Ri’sal_ , the Knight’s puppet. It hurt. It hurt to hear Scio say it, hurt that she refused to call her by her name, refused her that harmless intimacy.

But they were Prophet and _Shorin_.

And if somewhere along the way they had become friends… it didn’t necessarily have to count, did it? Duty came first – would always come first. She had known this from the very moment she had laid eyes on Moon, in her past life, that they could not allow themselves that particular slip.

To love each other.

They had nearly brought the world to an end with their irrational affection once.

“Hello, _Ri’sal_.”

Scio held on to her for a long moment before she set her to her feet, absentmindedly smoothing down the wrinkles of her dress out of habit and because it was an excuse to prolong their contact.

When she grasped her hand firmly and led her to the train, Sunon wondered why it was that she should call her love a mistake.

It wasn’t fair.

* * *

_Maybe it means nothing, maybe it means nothing,_

_Maybe it means nothing, but I’m afraid to move._

* * *

It was only a matter of time before Sunon finally snapped.

She screamed.

Scio was only grateful that they were alone, hidden behind the curtains of the forest just outside Nevenkita, far away from the resistance and the deaths it was collecting. She had known her Prophet would break – had seen it build in the past month, that fall they were taking now, the sharp edges of failure, of defeat.

They had peeled away the layers of lies and self-deception one by one until all that remained was a barren truth, the bleak knowledge that nobody cared enough to act, nobody cared enough to understand; that there was no great evil to fight against but the indifference of the people who willingly let their agency be stripped from them so they could feel safe and secure in the knowledge that nothing was ever going to change.

And Sunon screamed because she was powerless, because there was no way for her to breach that wall of apathy, no way for her to rekindle a fire that had burned out decades before. Not even the ashes remained.

The _Shorin_ stood motionless before her, listening as her voice shook and shattered, watching her arms flail about and her tangled hair pour over her chest, molten gold made darker by anger – its glow subdued somehow, like the sun when it slept behind the clouds. “…No hope! I dragged us across half the country, put you in mortal danger too many times to count! And it was all for nothing!”

A sigh escaped Scio at those words; she would never want Sunon to shoulder the guilt of the dangers they had faced – the choice to take the risk had been hers, always hers, she would have done it even if she hadn’t been asked. “Not for nothing,” she murmured, trying to soothe. “You are free.”

“Free?!” the Prophet repeated, blue eyes widening at the very thought. It seemed as if her pointless, desperate anger had doubled, flaring up in a blaze that would soon become destructive. “I am never free! I cannot be! If I let myself be free this world would _end_!”

“I know,” Scio said softly, taking a step forward. She wanted to grasp Sunon by the wrists, pull her to her chest and cradle her close until the screaming subsided and she could melt her pain away with tears. Instead, she waited. “I know.”

 _Ri’sal_ ’s expression was bitter with a kind of ancient grief that made the _Shorin_ ’s stomach churn and her mind reel with curiosity and the need to place it, to capture its source so she could erase it. “You don’t!” Sunon spat, and there was no accusation in her tone, only endless, eerie compassion even as her cries became rough and strained and she trembled. “You don’t know, you _can’t_ know, I won’t let this take you, never you…!”

Scio cocked her head to the side, privately shivering as the Prophet’s composure evaporated to leave behind nothing but raw emotion. She felt as if there was something missing, something vital and terrifying, something that, if discovered, would tilt the axes of her world.

“This, all of this, it was all wrong, I was wrong, I was blind, and I should have known, I knew and I made the same stupid mistakes all over again and now you’re trapped with me in this war that makes no sense!”

Breathless words were pouring like a river from Sunon’s trembling lips, jumbled together as she tried to collect them into some semblance of order. The _Shorin_ ached for her; she walked to her till they could almost touch, smiled a little, a sad, assuaging smile.

Around them, concealed and merging with the trees and the earth and the water, nymphs and dryads and merpeople watched them in silence.

“It does make sense,” Scio said in a murmur. She raised her hand and cupped the Prophet’s burning cheek, gratified to see her lean into the touch. “It makes sense to me and it will make sense to you. I would never regret following you, my _Ri’sal_.”

Sunon’s eyes flashed, and suddenly she was livid.

“Why can’t you call me by my name?” she raged, snapping away from the warrior’s hold. “Why must you do this?”

The _Shorin_ frowned but kept her silence because she didn’t know what she could possibly reply to that; it was difficult for her to understand why her Prophet disliked her title so, why she bristled every time she heard it, why she lived every moment of her life by it and yet hated its very sound.

“It’s like we’re strangers!”

 _Ri’sal_ ’s hand came down, quick and unexpected, against Scio’s shoulder. The blow was soon followed by another, and another. Again, the warrior stood still – far from hurting her, those punches fell weak and sloppy on her already ruined shirt, and she knew it would only be a matter of minutes before Sunon exhausted herself completely.

“You still think of me as just your Prophet, just…”

The _Shorin_ , who had calmly gathered her Ri’sal back into her arms, stiffened at once as a surge of outrage filled her chest. “You could never be _just_ my Prophet,” she growled, taking one step back so she could look her in the eyes. She closed calloused fingers around her chin, forcing her to look up.

“You are my _Ri’sal_ – the one to whom I have pledged my life,” she said, very slowly, gentling her grip so she was cradling the side of Sunon’s face. The light summer wind was wafting delicately about her pretty mane of golden hair, ruffling it further. Scio caught a few stray locks and drew them behind a pointed ear. “But if you must hear it…”

She took a deep breath. Her gaze fell to the Prophet’s parted lips, then travelled back up into her soft, mournful eyes. “If you must hear it, Sunon… The regard I have for you. The… devotion…” Her voice quivered but she pushed on, feeling _Ri’sal’_ s breath quicken, the loose hold she had on her chest tighten till she bunched up the blue shirt.

“You are Sun herself. How could I not respect you? How could I not… _adore_ everything you _are_ …”

They were so close their noses almost touched; Sunon’s fingers were tracing tantalising patterns into her hair, up and down, a grounding and yet at the same time impossibly thrilling touch. There was some kind of strange tension in the air, almost like electricity, a tingling moment in which possibilities were ripe and open and existed all at once in the same space.

The next step they took was almost an obligated one – flowing naturally towards the only acceptable conclusion to the build-up of complicity and secrets and desires and tentative friendship that had stretched across the land they had travelled, city by city, murder by murder, fight by fight.

They kissed.

Slowly and gently at first, testing the waters, and then something snapped between them, and Sunon let out a broken whimper and clutched her _Shorin_ tighter to her, and they were grasping at each other with a foreign kind of desperation, the one that came from knowing time was not a luxury they possessed, that there was no way for it to end well, that they were fated to give up on what they held dear and give themselves to the world that would never stop demanding their all.

They kissed and it was everything they’d ever wanted, and more.

When they broke apart, Scio pressed her forehead to Sunon’s and sighed softly, closing her eyes; the Prophet pressed both hands to her face, caressing her cheeks with her thumbs, soothing and so infinitely delicate. “You know I love you, don’t you?” she asked gravely.

“Yes,” Scio whispered, standing still in her embrace as if afraid she would vanish at the first hint of movement. “I know now.”

Night fell around them, but they never parted.

* * *

_And the words: they’re everything and nothing._

_I want to search for her in the offhand remarks._

* * *

Hand in hand, they walked into the depths of the forest, where the sun was muted and what little light remained was dimmed, greenish.

Behind them a terrible nothingness spilled forth, cold as the never-melting ice of the North, wild and destructive as the most ravenous of beasts; it devoured the land like it had many souls, blindly advancing towards a prize that would only bring a meaningless, ephemeral assuaging of a monstrous thirst that could never be truly quenched.

There was no point in its advances, but it knew not how to stop.

Enveloped by a tense silence that seemed to cling to the trees and the grass, Scio and Sunon tiptoed carefully over the undergrowth, trying not to draw the Crawlers’ attention to themselves – the time for the fight would come soon, the time when they could be sure they’d win; when there would be no doubt as to the reasons why they descended into battle, no doubt that they must take that risk, make that sacrifice.

Scio led the way, choosing her steps slowly, eyes fixed forward and breath drawn. Some strange, arcane force seemed to be guiding her, a mystery that manifested itself in iridescent wisps of smoke that peeked from between the tangle of decaying leaves and twigs.

Shivering, she pulled her beloved forth, to safety, listening to the distant song of dying merpeople, a music that called to her soul because it had been with her from the moment she was born, shadowing her in her travels no matter how far she was from the water.

It felt strange, dangerous even, to rely on that ever-changing melody for guidance, to trust these ancient, capricious beings that could very well lead them to their end – and yet there was no other option but to follow that siren call and the trail of mist it left behind.

Sunon squeezed her hand, their fingers entwined, and kept her silence – with it, she kept all the secrets that were about to be revealed, listing them in her mind with every step they took. She knew the path, knew where it would lead them, knew she could not hope to derail them, knew it was the Crawlers’ desire that they be driven _there_.

There, where it all began, where Sun and Moon once shared their immortal life, where everything would be naked and out in the open, in the abandoned Shrine that stood between a lake and a waterfall… there, future and past would merge and decide the fates of the world.

Endless nothing devoured all they left behind, forcing them forth, and the fire in her veins quivered, muted and weak, sensing tragedy, sensing an imminent end.

The soundless footsteps of her dear love, steady and even and clueless, would unearth the story of Moon’s agony and Sun’s betrayal, a story that had remained trapped within the sacred Shrine ever since it had been abandoned – and Sunon hoped without hope for that tangible proof of their servitude to be vanquished, destroyed, eaten up by the passing of time like the relic it was.

To bring her companion among the ruins of her scorned greatness was beyond cruel; and _Ri’sal_ knew, deep inside, that she would let the merpeople die if only to spare Moon the torture of awareness and memories.

And to think she had once wished to bring her back like this – to think she had believed her capable of restoring the world to sanity only by virtue of remembering, of existing. Now she wasn’t even sure she would survive the blow.

But then again, to stop now would mean certain death.

With all alternatives taken from her, Sunon surrendered to the inevitable, squared her shoulders and faced forward defiantly. If she couldn’t protect her beloved from the truth then the least she could do was help her carry that weight and ask forgiveness.

She raised their joined hands and pressed a firm kiss to Scio’s fingers, placed them above her heart. She met the _Shorin_ ’s surprised gaze with a gentle one of her own and silently urged her forward, to whatever safety they could find in the arms of the past.  Tension crackled in the air around them, and Sunon let her mind open to the touch of her dearest, most precious love; she let her devotion pour clear and unwavering between them.

 _You know I would give you my everything?_ she asked softly for the millionth time _. You know I love you, don’t you?_

Scio’s answer came readily: _As I do you, my Sun._

An ethereal lake stretched magnificent before them, guarding the way to the Shrine; its shimmering surface was all that could be seen in the horizon, its alluring music all that could be heard. Without missing a beat, without even thinking about what she was to do – a gesture born out of instinct and the phantom echo of ages past – Scio stepped over the water like it had been carved from glass.

It held them, painting evanescent colours as they crossed realms and lost themselves into the Land of the Deities, returning to their birthplace like swallows to their nests come spring.

Behind them, the Crawlers rested, melting into a pool of void by the shore. And Sunon knew they would wait for Sun and Moon to find their end into a fight they would begin themselves.

* * *

_Who are you, taking coffee, no sugar?_

_Who are you, echoing street signs?_

* * *

“Where are we?” Scio asked softly, tiptoeing into the ever-lasting grass, head tilted back and eyes wide as she swept a marvelling gaze over their surroundings.

Heavy clouds gathered slowly above, tinted dark as the moonless sky; shadows danced over the garden, peeking out and around from behind the patterns of roses that traced beautiful drawings on the earth. A soft, insistent thrill seemed to shake the air – tension that pooled rich and frightening into the night, awakened by the presence of the two Goddesses that had returned.

Returned to stay? Sunon did not know. Everything was familiar to her and nothing had changed but the fear with which she now found herself contemplating her past: fear and disgust for her foolishness, for her cowardice, for having let the mortals enslave her for millennia, for not having been able to flee the cage she had been complicit in building.

And Scio… Scio looked upon the wonders of the timeless Temple but did not see – she did not see the centuries it had taken for each flower to grow, countless tokens of a meaningless affection, did not see the dark shapes etched by mistrust and anger in the fine walls, did not see the paths fate had forced into the ground, the battle scars collected.

She walked in silence and in awe of what must truly be to her a magnificent place – torn right from forbidden stories and long-buried legends to be laid bare before her.

“This is the Shrine,” Sunon murmured, and even the sound of her own voice sent a chill down her spine, shaking her because it was strange, wrong, unfitting. “The Shrine where Sun and Moon loved each other.”

Scio did not reply: she simply nodded and reached out to hold her hand firmly, as if reassuring her of her presence; of her love.

An unexpected shower of rain drew them inside – forced them to violate the sanctity of a Temple built at the beginning of time, when the mortals knew little of the workings of the world, and called upon Deities to explain those small infinite wonders they could not name.

They made the way into the barren Shrine and it was like crossing ages; every step they took plunged them deeper into an abyss of lost knowledge and decaying legends, and Scio explored the offset passing of time with muted elation, eager to discover more and yet somehow upset by it all. As if sensing danger, she slowed her pacing, and Sunon accommodated her, no more eager than she was to proceed in the depths of the chambers that had once belonged to the Goddesses.

Eventually, they came to a stop before the main entrance – the gate that divided night from day, the place where Sun and Moon waited for each other as twilight and dawn brought them mercifully together and just as cruelly parted them.

Scio turned around herself twice, and traces of frightened recognition fluttered across her face; she swallowed hard, raised one hand to cover her mouth even though no words escaped her, then finally she came to a stop before the furthest wall, looking up at the splendid image that towered over her.

And there she saw, alive in the vibrant fresco they had received as a gift from the elderly God Change, her own eyes staring back at her from the face of Moon.

She stiffened, frowned, stepped back.

Unable to handle the downfall that was sure to follow, Sunon let her gaze linger on the beautiful picture for a moment longer – the tender grip the two Deities had on each other, the way their fingers entwined in busts of golden and silver, the identical pride that curved their lips into different, achingly gentle smiles…

Thunder struck behind them, and finally she turned to Scio. The _Shorin_ – the Goddess – had blanched, mouth open in silent horror, and her hands, always so steady, always so sure, had begun to shake; she stared at Sunon, pleading disbelief with widened eyes as if there could exist a way to erase the truths that were washing over her.

“No…” she cried brokenly, her voice barely more than a whisper, easily lost in the howls of the grieving wind and the rage of the falling rain. Yet it was all _Ri’sal_ could hear. “No, no…”

Shots of silver bled into Scio’s eyes, eerie in their disquiet as memories claimed her, dragging her down in the chasms of her own forgotten self; like shattering glass her expression melted into a million rivers of pain as her protests grew weaker.

When Sunon reached out a hand to her, she stumbled backwards, recoiling from the contact as if afraid it would kill her.

“No…” she exhaled again, a pitiful sound. “No!”

She fled.

For a cruel, suspended minute, there were only the thunder and lightning from the storm, flashes of pure white leeching away the lively colours of the Shrine until but a rotting shell remained. Scio’s footsteps carried in the crackling air, her futile run gaining speed as her desperation grew.

With dread biting harsh and unforgiving at her stomach, Sunon sighed deeply, accepting reality as it was because she had tried to escape it for too long, and she was finally, irredeemably tired. She had tried so hard – had given her soul and her fire to mend what had been torn, to reverse a fate that now revealed itself as inescapable. Perhaps she should had known she had been fighting a lost battle from the very beginning. Perhaps it was time for her to come to terms to the fact that she was, and had always been, powerless.

It could very well be that her beloved would hate her for her mistakes – for the glaring failures that had brought them to where and what they were. It would only be logical; it would make sense. They were, after all, quite unforgiveable.

Feeling strangely numb, Sunon stepped into the garden. Freezing rain cascaded upon her, beating a heartless rhythm against the ground.

From the fresco, Sun and Moon held one another in their eternal embrace.

* * *

_Who are you, the stranger in the shell of a lover,_

_Dark curtains drawn by the passage of time?_

* * *

Moon stood under the pouring rain; it was colder than her skin, colder even than her frozen heart. Memories rushed into her mind, retracing broken patterns she had tried to erase – her past had come back to haunt her, to demand she face it, face the changes that she’d been too scared to accept, the needs of the world that she now had to meet.

She understood, distantly, that she should feel something, feel the return of those very last days when all had dulled to an endless emptiness – pain fear disbelief contempt hatred _betrayal_ – feel the heavy rush of power course through her veins like molten silver, calling her back to her duty – guilt elation disgust relief comfort _denial_ – feel the answers fall into place as she looked over to the Shrine, to her companion of a thousand lifetimes – adoration grief loss wonder awe want affection _mistrust_.

She should be overwhelmed – destroyed – by a cascade of conflicting emotions, and _yet_.

There was nothing. Only the rain, beating furiously over her head, sliding down her cheeks like tears she could not weep, soaking her clothes so they clung to her body like a second skin – something to be discarded, unneeded because when had a Goddess desired clothes?

When had Moon _needed_? Why should she allow herself to need? She was void. Nothing crossed her heart but the knowledge that it was empty.

Not even joy.

Not even love.

Nothing.

It was… anticlimactic. She stared unseeingly at Sun as she walked silently to her, and when she thought they were close enough – when the warmth that was her shattered the ice around Moon, turning it to a thousand invisible knives piercing her soul – she spoke.

“How could you do this?” she asked softly; she could muster no inflection in her tone, no feeling – time seemed to have screeched to a halt with its claws firmly planted in her soul, holding it still. “How could you lie to me for so long just to bring me back?”

A tremor ran down her spine as those words left her; the flicker of anguish on Sun’s pretty mortal face was not lost upon her: the way her eyes flashed yellow behind a sheen of unshed tears, the way her full lips twitched as a shaky breath pushed past them… None of this was familiar, the loss of control her beloved allowed herself, this new habit she had of not hiding…

And yet concealing the truth as if there existed a possibility for them to escape it.

The thought infuriated Moon so suddenly and completely, and she screamed, she screamed her rage and her affront and her shameful weakness, let her voice rise until it reached all around them. “I did not want to be back – to be here!”

Sun bowed her head. Golden hair fell wetly over her forehead, obscuring her face; the phantom memory of past intimacy had Moon’s fingers ache to pull them back, to brush gently across those cheekbones and behind the pointed ears, but she clenched her teeth and did not move.

“I didn’t want to know anymore, know myself…” she whispered, collecting the frayed ends of her being as it put itself together in the place where she was born. “What made you do this?”

Sunon looked at Scio – Moon – and her heart fluttered, foolishly rejoicing in the recognition she saw in her angered gaze. It was frightening, how that little change – that small, insignificant light that twinkled at her under the layers of frozen fury and contempt could mean to her.

“I should have told you,” she blurted out, entranced by those eyes and the millennia gathered within them. “I should have told you the moment I saw you. I know that now but I didn’t know you…”

Moon cocked her head to the side, feeling the rain wash over her and wishing her soul could be washed away along with the chilling drops; in that moment, she ached for some light – not the unforgiving, blinding, all-encompassing blaze of the sun, but the gentle, comforting beams of the nightly satellite she had drowned in darkness ages before.

So much had come between them; the times when their love had been but a simple, innocent feeling were gone – and perhaps they’d never existed at all. Perhaps all that she had ever wanted was for their love not to be an act of rebellion, not to mean betrayal of the people they protected, not to bring chaos and danger and despair.

She did not speak for she feared her own thoughts and what they could reveal. She waited, faithful even then that Sun would somehow find the right arguments, Sun, with her warm brown skin and fidgeting hands and pointed canines biting down into soft lips. Sun, the slave to the Temple, Sun as she had become.

“I’m sorry; I’m so very sorry. But there were reasons…” she began, and all at once her words were tangling, rushing forth in her haste to explain herself, to obtain forgiveness for the terrible, terrible sin she had committed against her dearest companion. “Oh, Scio, you hated Moon for leaving us and how could I do that to you? How could I tell you it was you?”

Her voice broke and she lowered her gaze to the ground, to the rivulets of water twisting around her naked feet. Moon was still quiet, still waiting, observing her, and the weight of her hurt – of how deceived she must surely feel – threatened to push Sunon to her knees.

She curled her hands into fists and soldiered on. “It was a mistake keeping the truth from you, but I wanted to spare you this pain!” she said, pressing her fist to her heart forcefully. She chanced a step forward. “Because it hurts, you know how it hurts! You’ve seen it destroy me, how could I do that to _you_?”

Sun’s arms spread wide, a wordless invitation. Moon’s lips parted just so as the instinct to meet her, to gather her close and bury her face in her curling hair, surged deep within her; finally, she moved.

Her feet left no trace on the lush, prospering grass, and the enchanted flowers brushed around her ankles, saluting her passage, celebrating her return. Past and present began to merge as she forced her mind to tie the loose ends of a bond once shared and now rebuilt anew.

She fixed her gaze in that of the woman who awaited her. Those blue, blue eyes were alien, different, wrong – Sun was a stranger, changed, other – and yet Moon knew them, knew them from the shadow of the mortal life she had lived, a life in which she had been so completely unaware and yet somehow she had managed to make all the right choices, and those choices had led them both there…

Inside their garden they had built with their love, standing between eternal roses with frail bodies that could die and break and _feel_.

And Scio had felt devotion and desire and affection for her Prophet, for her _Ri’sal_ , had worshiped her in a way that was not entirely unfamiliar… Something Moon had wished to do for so long: offer protection, fight side by side whatever battle they were confronted with, kiss each other, embrace, sleep together.

Unattainable, and _yet_.

When they came close at last, she let herself smile sadly at her beloved, and reached out her hands so Sun could grasp them, bring them to her chest in a gesture born out of guilt and relief. Hot and cold – day and night – met in their grip, and rain pooled in the spaces between their fingers, filling it as hope filled the electrified air that separated the two.

“I love you too much,” Sunon murmured tersely, never lowering her eyes from hers. “And this time… this time I chose you over my duty, you over the world.”

Moon quivered at those words. Soft kisses were being pressed against the wet skin of her wrists, the touch as delicate as a butterfly’s wings, hiding a promise neither of them had ever dared even _think_. “Was I wrong again, my love?” Sun asked, gaze reflecting the shadows of their last time together as Goddesses, all the ugly things they had thrown at each other.

The bitter venom of the mortals’ wars had tainted their relationship, spoiling it, forcing accusations and mistrust into the already painful picture the two of them made, but perhaps now they could take it back, change the colours into something brighter, and softer, and sweeter.

“Before you left… before all this… You asked that I lie to you, for comfort and protection and because you needed it. I didn’t – I couldn’t…” Sun faltered in her speech, and Moon disentangled their hands so she could cradle her face between her palms, pressing their foreheads together. Their thoughts merged, creating beautiful images that could morph into their future, because they belonged in the land of becoming…

“I lied for you – kept all this to myself – I had reasons and it’s so simple, it’s so frightening, I did it for you, I…”

Gently, Moon brushed her own cool lips to the fiery ones of her beloved; she held still in that precious, long-yearned for contact, absorbing the finality of it, letting the simple truth of Sun’s presence wash over her – and like the rain, the certainty of belonging cleansed her, healing the wounds the terrans had inflicted on her one by one, until nothing but her as she once had been remained.

“I know,” Moon whispered, and the words felt like velvet and honey because they were spoken against the trembling mouth of her dearest; Sun’s breath scorched her and she welcomed the burn that branded her. “I know, I understand.”

She closed her eyes and allowed the illusion – the incredible reality – of _them_ free reign on her soul, on her mind. “I should have been with you throughout all this, my Sun…” she said, melting in the quiet of her abused heart for every time her beloved traced reverent fingers over her translucent skin, following the constellations of freckles light had etched into it for daring to exist under the day sky. “Forgive me I did not know you sooner.”

An airy laugh fell from Sun’s lips at that, wrapping around Moon like a caring embrace. “Oh, but you have been… my saviour, my protector, my _Shorin_ … You have been with me all along.”

Moon sighed deeply; her hands slid down her beloved’s face, along the smooth curve of her neck, then over her shoulders, until they docked at her hips, pulling her closer so their bodies were flush together. She bent her head to hide her face in the hollow just above her collarbone, listening to Sun’s heartbeats, an entrancing sound; a small smile ghosted over her lips when she felt warm arms thrown around her waist, holding fast.

“We are mortals now,” Sun breathed in her ear as she dropped quick kisses into her drenched hair, short spikes of excitement that sent her chilled blood into a rush of living silver. “We are together… And I’ll stay mortal for you, the world does not need us anymore, they took so much already, they took you…”

That confession – that desperate request that so closely resembled Moon’s in its foolishness and aching need – sliced through her like a knife. She strengthened her grasp around Sun so they were embracing as tightly as their frail mortal bodies allowed. “Oh, my dearest, my dearest… They do need us still. They always will.”

Sun let out a broken cry at that, and Moon suddenly found herself having to support her weight; she did so gladly, humbled and touched that she would ever be allowed to take care of her like this. She gently lowered them both to the ground, in a circle of scarlet and candid roses.

“I cannot lose you again…” Sun said.

Simple words that bore the mark of Moon’s mistakes, Moon’s fear.

“You won’t,” she vowed. Like crystals, raindrops had gathered at the corners of Sun’s lashes, hanging from them in place of the tears she was containing; Moon kissed them all away, and a tentative, delicate warmth began to blossom in her chest as she finally realised – accepted, believed – that her wish had been granted, that they were there, in the Shrine, under a storm in full night, _together_.

She was so grateful.

“My Sun, you followed me after the fall.”

“How could I not?” Sun mused, digging searching fingers in her back, down her spine. “You were all that was left of me. You still are.”

Moon’s eyes fluttered close once again when those burning fingers found their way beneath her crumbling, ruined shirt, but she fought to keep her control just a little while longer. “That’s not true, my love,” she told Sun’s heaving bosom as she laid her into the yielding grass and bestowed kisses like secrets all over her face and neck and shoulders. “So much has changed – we have changed. I would have never thought it possible…”

Sun caught the back of her head and nudged her to look up, so their gazes could meet. Those blue eyes of hers – blue like the sky that was her home – were laced with weariness and hard acceptance. “You wish to go back, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do,” Moon admitted, squeezing her hand apologetically. She was keenly aware that her shirt had fallen to the ground, that an open flame was devouring the ice within her. “But there is time… We have all night.”

* * *

_Oh, words, like rain, how sweet the sound._

_“Well, anyway,” she says, “I’ll see you around…”_

* * *

The day after, they headed out into battle, heads held high in pride and fingers entwined in love. Together, they met their fate, and shaped it anew.

                  

 

 

* * *

[My writing blog](https://weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables.tumblr.com/)   [more about 'The Gift of Ashes'](https://weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables.tumblr.com/thegiftofashes)  ['Recessional', by Vienna Teng](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGKicxfFtsw)

**Author's Note:**

> I am actually very proud of this!! If you liked, please leave a trace of your passing! And perhaps come visit me on my writing blog! Nanowrimo approaches and I intend to challenge myself with writing 50k words for The Gift of Ashes! It's gonna be fun! (Read, I'm gonna suffer so much and I'm gonna love every last second of it)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Do listen to the song (and the album), it's enchanting!


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